Found at Sea
by Nico Morrison
Summary: A ship builder. A beautiful rose. Their paths collide on the doomed creation of his dreams and nothing will ever be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this account forever and I just always seem to come back to it. Sorry for the hiatus on some of my other works. Life happens. I'm gonna give it another go though; hope you'll give it a try. I've always loved Titanic. Gonna try a story on for size. Please picture the character of Thomas Andrews as anyone you like. I have someone specific in mind, but it's not the actor from the movie. Though I do love Victor Garber…don't get me wrong. He's just not what I picture here. Also I write in my own formats. Line breaks usually indicate thought shift.**

 **I don't own the Cameron characters or plot line, obviously. Everything else is my imagination (and I'll take a lot of liberties. Like, a lot. Don't get mad. I will rewrite history. Ha!) As always, reviews are appreciated!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Nico**

* * *

The air was colder than it should have been for April. The wind pulled at Rose's wide brimmed hat, causing her gloved hand to rise to steady it on more than one occasion. Truth be told, she would rather have flung the damn thing into the ocean but mother's watchful eye prevented her from acting in such a manner-if only to spare herself the inevitable lecture.

She stood outside of the hired car that had brought them to the shores of the English channel. Her fiancé hovered nearby, making comments that weren't very imaginative but nevertheless agreed with by the people around him. Especially mother. Her eyes shined as she laughed at his stupid jokes and agreed vigorously with whatever he was saying.

If she didn't know better, Rose would have thought she was gaining a stepfather instead of a husband.

She smiled despite herself, her gaze rising again to the large vessel before her. Lord, it was enormous. Menacing, almost. Cal had purchased fare aboard the colossus to celebrate the decision to move to America for an indeterminate length of time. He had ideas for investments, it seemed. And he seemed quite sure of himself. Not that Rose or her mother had any choice in the matter of their departure. They were destitute. Cal was their key to remaining in high society. To Ruth, this was the only way.

To Rose, this was a death sentence.

Yet she remained stoic. She smiled and nodded, concentrating her efforts on maintaining her posture lest they overwhelm her desire to scream from the top of her lungs. She took his offered arm when it came time to board the ship, trying not to let the looming figure of the vessel frighten her. She ignored the lapping of the water beneath her feet as they walked the plank into the most beautiful ship any of them had ever seen.

* * *

Thomas Andrews was late. His watch had once again stopped working and he had lost himself in the bowels of his ship once again. It seemed there was always a bolt that needed tightening; paint that needed smoothing out. He just noticed that two of the emergency dampers in the third coal room were malfunctioning. Assembling a crew to address the problem was near impossible-what with all the excitement of departure. The process had taken far longer than expected.

And now, he was late.

He could tell because the firemen were already shoveling coal at a frenzied pace, feeding the boilers with increasing speed.

Departure was eminent.

He hurried though the web of crew tunnels, wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and retying his tie in an attempt to look respectable as he went. He smiled at each crew member he passed, greeting most of them by name. He stopped just once-to close a janitorial closet door that had been left slightly ajar. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of weaving through passengers and climbing stairs, he reached the boat deck. Relieved to see they had not yet shoved off, he walked beneath the bridge giving a half wave to Captain Smith who nodded back in reply. Thomas had a ritual of standing on the boat deck during departure. Whether Captain Smith knew this and held off giving the order to depart or not Thomas didn't know, but he wouldn't have been surprised. The old man secretly loved poetic moments. And this was certainly one.

Thomas eased into a quiet spot, resting his forearms on the railing of his beloved creation. _The years,_ he thought, chuckling as he always did when reflecting on the true-to-its-namesake project he had agreed to when designing Titanic. This movable giant was the culmination of nearly two decades of tutelage. His very blood and tears lived in the polished wood that gleamed beneath his feet now.

The sun was high in the sky-it was just after noon. The light played on the water, the sea air ruffling through his slightly long, dark hair. He felt at home on the sea. At peace. His stomach bubbled at excitement over the forthcoming journey, just as it had done when he was a child, accompanying his father and grandfather on maiden voyages upon creations of their own.

And what a reward, he mused, to celebrate the completion of the most incredible ship known to man with a journey upon her very back on the open sea.

Thomas smiled broadly, his full lips parting to reveal even, white teeth.

Life was good.

* * *

Rose didn't feel the ship begin to make its way down the English Channel , but she did notice that the scenery on the horizon was moving as she tried to busy her mind with directing the maids. She had learned that if she appeared busy, Cal mostly ignored her. It was only when she appeared to think that he was bothered to notice her. Usually with a scathing comment or condescending dismissal.

She imagined that if she could just figure out a way to appear busy for the rest of her life, she may never have to speak to him again.

So she busied her maids about, giving the frivolous requests expected of the upper class. She only found a moment to herself-one moment to savor-as she stood alone on her private promenade deck. The sun was suddenly strong on her face, caressing it in a way nothing else could. The sea smelled strong and clean. The air was a sharply contrasting brisk against the warmth on her face.

For just a moment, she stood-almost smiled-as she indulged in the sensations, forgetting for the most fleeting of seconds her current state of affairs.

But of course, reality came to knock in the form of her mother, who was urgently requesting Rose change from her traveling clothes, even though they had been on her body for less than three hours. Rose nodded mutely, following her mother back to the bustle of their private chambers.

After several promises to hurry and two requests to dress alone, Rose closed the door of her private quarters. She leaned against the door, exhaling a breath that she had been holding since before they had left for Southampton. Her fingers mindlessly went to the intricate peal buttons that trailed down the bodice of her gown. She worked silently until she stood in her chemise and corset. Silently, she pulled the pins from her hair and placed them one after the other with punctuated 'plinks' onto her vanity. She ran her fingernails across her scalp, massaging away the tension her tight up-sweep had caused. Cascades of red hair fell down her back as she sat in front of the huge mirror, surprised that she looked as good as she did considering how she felt inside.

Not surprisingly, she heard the other door in her chamber stir and open. Cal slinked inside, a small smile playing upon his lips. He slowly walked up behind her as she busied herself with reapplying her lipstick. She felt his fingers brush down against her bare shoulder and then down her arm as he leaned in behind her.

"You look beautiful, darling," he purred. She could smell a hint of brandy on his breath. He was most assuredly halfway to being drunk, as usual.

"Thank you, Cal," she replied, knowing the acidity in her tone was lost on him.

"Will you come to me tonight?" He asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I would imagine not, Cal," she said, eyeing his reflection in the mirror. "There is absolutely nothing private about these chambers."

Once again her sarcasm was lost on him. "I shall wait in my quarters for you. Knock once your mother is asleep."

Rose sighed. "I shall try, Cal," she replied as she always did, delaying the inevitable excuse for why she did not come. Mother had woken. She suddenly developed one of her "terrible headaches." The maids were midnight polishing again.

She ignored the nagging knowledge that she could only put himself off for so long, and that soon-as his wife-she would have no choice but to go to him.

She shuddered inwardly as he dropped a kiss on her shoulder and winked at her mirror image before quietly leaving her room. He disgusted her. And he was hers forever.

Not that she expected he would remain faithful. She had already caught him with the niece of a business associate of his and two maids. He indulged in the drink and forgot himself too often to truly be the gentleman he pretended he was. Beneath his perfectly groomed hair, the sweet smelling cologne and the finest clothing money could buy lay a snake who was simply biding his time before he struck out against his next victim.

What sort of life could she expect to enjoy with this man? This man who had already struck her once and threatened a dozen times. What kind of father would he be? What kind of friend? Rose fought back the tears that always stung at her eyes as she thought of these things-and mourned what felt like her own death.

She dressed rather quickly, not wanting to see her reflection in the mirror for a moment longer than she had to. She barely noticed the dress she selected, with all its delicate white lace and mauve silks. Before opening her door, she straightened her shoulders and slowed her gait, replacing her somewhat panicked expression with the mask of indifference that she had so carefully cultivated.

Ruth was already twittering about tea time in the much gossiped about Palm Court aboard ship. Cal agreed gallantly that their presence was required of their stature; something that Rose knew made Ruth positively gleeful. Cal promised to meet them at tea right after he met with the other gentlemen of the first class for a celebratory cigar. He excused himself with false propriety. Rose smiled and nodded again, always quiet, always contained. As Ruth began giving the orders for the placement of the contents of their luggage, Rose approached her gracefully. "I will be taking some air, Mother," she said. "Trudy will chaperone," she added before Ruth could remind her of the importance of appearance. Ruth nodded.

"Very well," she acquiesced, too busy in her lectures to the maids to lecture Rose. "Twenty minutes. Don't dawdle. "

Trudy obediently followed behind her mistress as she quickly swept from the room in a gentle flutter of silks.

Once on the promenade, Rose turned to her favorite maid and handed her a few coins. "Trudy, why don't you go find yourself a cup of coffee," she whispered, winking. Trudy smiled, thankful for the flighty nature of her employer's fiancée. She would repay the young woman with her silence. Besides, she felt slightly bad for the girl. Cal Hockley was an arrogant, cheating, abusive bastard, though the middle aged maid would never dare say so aloud.

Once she was alone, Rose walked to the back of the ship, taking the time to try and calm her nerves with gulps of the sea air. Her insides churned with negative emotions. She steadied herself by placing her hands on the gorgeously polished rails, the material cold under her gloved fingers. She felt the winds rip at the silks of her skirts and wraps, lifting them and lowering them around her. She imagined herself as a ghost, floating free above the foaming waters below, weightless and carefree.

And that was where Thomas first saw her. A deck below as he walked to descend from the boat deck. Her back rigidly straight, her red hair swirling around her in the same underwater dance as her skirts. She was alone, a solitary spirit against a bright, sunlit sea. He felt compelled to edge closer, to watch as her slender form remained perfectly still. He was nearly eight feet above her, yet her gentle floral perfume caressed his nose and he could clearly see the gentle plush of her lips as her silhouette was crisp against the ocean's back drop. Her form was the perfect soft curve of femininity, and Thomas felt himself respond automatically. It had been an eternity since he had noticed a woman, and here the universe was seemingly presenting him with the perfect specimen, an angel sent directly to him.

She turned just then, as if she sensed he was watching. Her face was brightly visible in the afternoon sun. Large, light eyes turned up to his, the dark lashes around them making them look even bigger. Her cream complexion was only interrupted by the deep red stain of her lips. Her throat was pale and delicate, traveling down to a gentle swell of bosom that disappeared beneath her bodice.

Most distracting, however, even more distracting and distressing to Thomas than all this creature's beauty, were the trails of tears that hurried down her cheeks.

Just as he thought she was about to speak…and just as he was about to himself…a dark haired man strode with aggressive footsteps behind her.

* * *

"Where is Trudy," Cal demanded.

"I wanted my muff," Rose replied, thinking quickly. "It seems to have gotten colder."

"You shouldn't be alone," Cal said tersely.

"Oh Cal, it was only for a moment," Rose replied, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Perhaps you didn't understand," Cal said, spinning her around by the arm a bit roughly. "You _won't_ be alone. I do not want you wandering around this ship like some sort of whore. I want to know where you are, at all times. And I want a maid with you, at all times. Is that understood?"

Rose nodded, her eyes burning with hatred.

"Good," Cal said, releasing her arm. "Your mother expects us for tea." He offered his arm now, and Rose reluctantly took it, allowing him to lead her to Palm Court.

* * *

Thomas had almost jumped down to the deck below him when the man had grabbed the woman he had been watching. He hadn't, because it was foolish to feel so strongly so suddenly about a complete stranger. What was happening was none of his business, yet he couldn't suppress the desire to punch the man in the mouth.

He loosened his tie a bit, the anger that had bubbled up inside of him making it seem momentarily too tight.

He gazed out at the sea for a moment, lost in a thought. The man had mentioned tea. It was a interesting coincidence because usually, Thomas didn't accept invitations to tea such as the one that had been extended to him and a few other key figures on the ship by Bruce Ismay just before departure.

Usually.


	2. Chapter 2

**As always, reviews are appreciated! Thank you!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-Nico**

* * *

The white and green tiles on the floor of the Palm Court were nearly as mesmerizing as the long arms of the fresh ivy that ran up and down the walls. Rose had been occupying her mind with counting leaves, then tiles, then back to leaves again.

Cal, being naturally enigmatic, had secured a large table where a good selection of the boat's upper class now sat, laughing good-naturedly at each other's conversation. As always, Rose was silent save for the occasional "yes please" as the waiter came around to warm up her tea. To her right was Madeline Astor-she was nice enough and about the same age as Rose. She had elected to sit next to the young woman rather than her finance, hoping that it would be acceptable under the guise of a perceived friendship with Madeline. Cal would most certainly approve of such a social match between his soon to be wife and the wealthiest man aboard's wife. Though Rose doubted the pretty socialite would have much time for such a friendship. It was quite apparent, both from Madeline's swollen abdomen and the rampant rumors aboard ship, that she was with child-courtesy of the man sitting next her her-namely her husband, John Jacob Astor. Cal sat next to him, of course, with Ruth at his side. Next to Ruth sat The Countess of Rothes and her parents. Next was Bruce Ismay, the managing director of the ship's mother company: the illustrious White Star Line. To listen to Ismay, with his inflated ego and aggrandizing statements, one might think that he was responsible for each nook and cranny of Titanic. Rose found him irritating and was thankful for the empty chair between them.

"I tell you-God himself could not sink this ship!" Ismay was saying, his waxy mustache nearly quivering with his own sense of importance.

"Isn't that marvelous!" Twittered Ruth, who was always desperate to be in agreement with the rich. And it worked because the rich loved her syrupy support. Ismay lit his pipe with a flourish, a satisfied smile on his lips.

"It is a beautiful ship," Madeline offered, her silvery voice nearly buried beneath the lilt of the soft music emanating from the string quartet in the distance.

"Agreed," said Cal, raising his glass. "To Titanic!"

"To Titanic," the table agreed, toasting the ship. A figure approached the table just then. Ismay's eyes lit up with recognition and perhaps a hint of irritation.

"Andrews!" He greeted the figure, hating to share his current spotlight with the ship's master builder. "We were just drinking to our fine ship," he said, emphasizing the word "our" just a bit.

Thomas's jaw clenched just slightly. How he hated this weaseling man. "I am sorry I missed it," he replied pleasantly, his accent lilting quickly over the words.

Despite the presence of Ismay, Thomas found himself suppressing a strange boy-like giddiness that was glowing in his chest. The angel he saw just a short time ago was now close enough to touch, her eyes a bit wide with recognition at the sight of him.

"Have a seat, Andrews," Ismay suggested civilly. Thomas gave a slight nod and gracefully sat down in the white wicker chair next to Rose. "For those of you who don't know, allow me to introduce Mr. Thomas Andrews," Ismay continued. "He built this ship."

Andrews prickled again at Ismay's lackluster introduction. It was short lived, however, as the woman next to him spoke.

"You built this ship?" Rose asked. When he turned to face her, her breath caught in her throat. How peculiar, she mused. She supposed if someone had described Cal as handsome, she wouldn't be surprised even though she couldn't see it for herself. She had often heard the feather-headed girls that gathered socially giggling about which of the young men in their wealthy circle they found attractive. Rose had always listened-even acquiesced once or twice that a man was not completely hideous-but she had never seen true male beauty until this very moment.

"Well, I had help," Thomas replied, his voice gentle and warm. "But aye, I had involvement in knockin' her together."

Rose barely heard when Ismay spoke again. "Fought me tooth and nail on every detail, the old boy did," Ismay laughed, lifting his teacup to his lips. Right down to the colors of the carpeting in third class! As if it mattered!" The table collectively chuckled, save Rose and Thomas.

"The beauty is in the smallest details," Thomas said, his eyes holding Rose's gaze for just long enough for her to feel a new swell of warmth in her chest.

"I'm more of a big picture man myself," Ismay mused. "And I do believe the picture doesn't get much bigger than this!" Another spontaneous toast dissolved into light chatter. Rose stole a glance at Thomas, who did the same. They both smiled and dropped their eyes for an instant. When they lifted their eyes again, each was prepared with small talk that came out simultaneously.

"The ship is truly remarkable…"

"Quite cold out for the time of year…"

They both stopped and laughed. "It is rather brisk," Rose answered his remark.

"And I thank you for the compliment," Thomas answered hers. "Have you been on many ships?"

"A few," she said. "None as grand as this. I'd imagine the sea is a second home to you in your line of work."

"Aye," Thomas nodded in agreement. "I have permanent sea legs. Though I'd have to agree that this ship is by far the grandest I've ever traveled with."

Rose smiled a bit. "Traveled with," she repeated, laughter coloring her words. "You make it sound as if the ship were alive."

"She is," Thomas replied. "As sure as I'm sitting here, she is breathing beneath my feet."

"A woman," Rose noted the pronoun he used. "Are all ships female?"

"Aye," said Thomas. "Except perhaps tugboats."

Rose coughed on her tea, loud enough to draw disapproving stares from her mother and Cal. Thomas watched her in amusement. As she regained her composure, he leaned in again and whispered, "You are quite stunning when you smile."

The slightest of gasps escaped her lips as he pulled back.

From across the table, Cal glanced at his fiancé. It seemed Rose and the ship builder were speaking to each other-quite closely. Cal watched for a moment longer as Andrews inclined slightly towards Rose and then straightened.

He couldn't be certain, but he thought he saw Rose flush.

"I say, Andrews," Cal addressed him, keeping his voice bright. "How about a private tour for myself and my future bride and mother-in-law," he said, pointedly looking at Rose. "I assure you no price is too high."

Thomas had suspected that this entitled imbecile was Rose's intended, but it still was surprisingly difficult to hear.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Thomas began.

"No, no my good man," Cal chuckled. "I wouldn't have anyone else but you as our guide! Name your price."

Thomas sighed inwardly. The man obviously was attempting to Lord his money over him-no matter that Thomas himself was quite a wealthy man-and assert his dominating control over him. Because Thomas was known to pour his own sweat equity into his projects, he was somehow tainted by the upper class. He was a bit working class.

Many took the opportunity to point out that distinct difference.

He would love to spit in Cal Hockley's arrogant face. To tell him to conduct his own tour-preferably at the bottom of the ocean.

But a tour would mean another encounter with Rose and that was too tempting a possibility to decline.

"I would be honored to give you a tour," he said, looking directly at Rose. Cal noticed and his eyes darkened slightly. Thomas met the glare with a brilliant smile. "Shall we say tomorrow morning? After breakfast?"

Cal nodded, annoyed. "We look forward to it."

"How marvelous!" Ruth exclaimed. "A tour of the most magnificent ship on earth, given by the man who built her!"

Rose ignored her mother's chirping and stood from her chair as Cal approached behind her, ready to escort her from tea. Thomas had a fleeting idea.

"If either of you are feeling adventurous, do be sure to take a midnight stroll around the promenade," Thomas suggested, rising. He was pleased to discover he was at least a head taller than Hockley. "The views are incredible at night. I find it the best time to be aboard." Again, he looked pointedly at Rose, surprising even himself with his brashness.

"A good way to catch your death of cold, wandering around in the middle of the night," Cal said. Thomas shrugged.

"Until tomorrow morning, then," he replied. Cal nodded and quickly ushered Rose away.

Thomas noticed, however, that she stole a glance over her shoulder as they left.

* * *

Rose paced her private chamber. She had retired hours ago, citing a strong headache. Cal was noticeably annoyed, but bid her goodnight and headed to one of the ship's many smoking lounges. There were always cards to play and bets to wager if he couldn't have her. She didn't expect him back until at least daybreak so long as the cigars and brandy held out.

Thomas's words were echoing in her head. She was almost certain that the mention of a midnight stroll was an invitation to something more.

 _Almost_ certain.

It was crazy. For whatever reason, the exchange at tea was stuck in her mind. She couldn't stop replaying it. His words. Her words. And now she was certain of it-

He was strolling the promenade right now.

Alone.

It would be at the height of impropriety for her to even _consider_ sneaking out and up to the top decks.

Yet she was.

It would be easy, really. The only risk would be running into Cal in the hallways but as fortune would have it, their rooms were located fairly close to a beautiful stairwell that led directly to the promenade deck.

She could be there in less than a minute.

She argued back and forth in her own head.

She was still arguing as she donned her shawl.

Before she knew it, the door to her room closed with a barely audible _click_ behind her and she was standing in the hallway, her breath coming in tiny pants. She smiled, surprised by how exhilarating she found sneaking around.

The more practical side of her felt downright silly for what she was doing. She had only spoken to Thomas for a moment. His mention of a midnight stroll was probably innocent-and not an invitation. She was most likely going to run into him and make an enormous fool out of herself.

Twice, on the stairs, she paused, nearly turning back and forgetting the whole thing. Yet with each stair she climbed, she felt freer. The further she went, the most assured she felt in her decision until she was nearly running up the stairs.

Finally she reached the top of the stairwell where huge and intricately designed wrought iron decorated the doors led to the promenade deck. Trying not to allow her mind to dwell and doing her best to even out her breathing, she quickly pushed them open.

The brisk night air flew up in her face-the smell was divine! Rose couldn't remember the last time she was outside so late at night-and never in such a setting! The inky black sky above was positively littered with stars. So many that it seemed like the sky was filled with shimmering, stationary snowflakes. The water below was also black, creating a sense of flying. With no horizon looming in the distance and the steady motion of the ship, it was easy to become disoriented.

And Rose loved it.

She approached the side of the ship, thankful that she was alone for the moment. She placed her hands on the rail and leaned over just slightly, deeply inhaling the salty smell of the ocean. She breathed deeply several times, allowing her eyes to close as she enjoyed each bit of the sensations around her.

"You won't want to lean more than that," a voice tinged with humor and an Irish brogue said. "That water is just a few degrees above freezing."

Rose spun around, her hair whipping her face. There stood Thomas, a long dark coat and perfectly tilted hat cutting an impressive figure in the dim light on deck. "Mr. Andrews!" She exclaimed, both surprised and exhilarated to see him.

"Please, call me Thomas," he said, stepping forward to drop a kiss on the back of Rose's gloved hand. His lips didn't make contact with her skin, yet it was as if she had been burned anyhow. The unexpected sensation caused Rose to gasp slightly. She quickly cleared her throat.

"You really do take midnight strolls," Rose said, mentally kicking herself for stating the obvious. Thomas smiled.

"Truth be told, Rose, I do not," he replied, still smiling.

"You don't?" Rose asked, her fingertips tightening on the railing behind her. Thomas shook his head.

"I am usually elbow deep in paperwork this time of night, sadly," he said, taking a small step closer to her. Rose felt her chest tighten a bit.

"You were right about the views though," she offered. Thomas looked up at the shimmering stars for a moment and then back to her porcelain face.

"Aye," he agreed. "The views are spectacular."

Rose shivered involuntarily. "Thomas…" she began.

"I do not pretend to know what I'm doing here, Rose," he interrupted her, a small smile playing on his lips. "I have never acted in this manner before."

"What manner?" Rose asked, her voice a near whisper. She watched, in both fascination and awe as he slowly reached behind her, grasping her left hand in his right and bringing her just a bit closer to him.

"This manner," he replied, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. Rose locked eyes with him for a moment, lost in the deep pools of amber she found there. His skin was tanned-no doubt from many days spent overseeing various ships' construction. His lashes framed his uniquely colored eyes-eyes that had just a hint of crow's feet at the corners. A day or two of stubble was visible, as if he had simply been too busy to shave. His hair was dark and thick-and perhaps just a bit too long to be considered fashionable. Now that she was close to him she could see that his body was robust and muscular. He was quite tall; she felt quite small by comparison. His lips-they were full and lush…and one side lifted just slightly higher than the other when he smiled…and…

No. This was wrong. She pulled her hand away abruptly, turning her back to Thomas and gazing out at the black sea, willing her heart not to beat out of her chest. "Thomas," she breathed. "I am engaged to be married."

She could feel tension behind her. When several moments passed without him speaking, she turned back around.

She was about to tell him to go away. To leave her alone. That she loved Cal. Thomas could sense it was coming. Yet still, in this moment, she had never looked more beautiful. Most of her almost abnormally red hair had escaped its pins and was floating around her face and shoulders. What Thomas had first assumed was the sweet-smelling white powder wealthy women used to smooth out their skin was actually her skin-peaches and cream normally but flushed now by the cold air. Her eyes were green and large, shimmering with unidentifiable emotions. Maybe too many to name. And though he knew she was about to reject him, he was thankful for this moment. A moment where he was the only one gifted with the sight of her.

He waited for the other shoe to drop. For her to forbid him from pursuit. That this was insanity. That they didn't know each other beyond a few words and that he was a fool. But she remained silent for what seemed an eternity before simply repeating herself. This time, however, there was clear defeat in her voice. "I am engaged to be married."

Thomas felt his fists involuntarily clench at the thought of Cal. True, he didn't know Hockley very well, but he knew his type. And just the mere fact that he was the man destiny had chosen for Rose was enough to make Thomas hate him. He held Rose's gaze for a while until she dropped her head, seemingly sad. He thought for a few moments before becoming emboldened again and asking "do you love him?"

Rose jerked her head up. "Pardon me?"

It was Thomas's turn to repeat himself. "Do you love him?"

Rose scoffed. "What a ridiculous question."

"Is it?"

"Thomas, you have been around the upper class long enough to realize that love has very little to do with marriage these days," she said, her eyes dark.

"I don't realize that," he said, frowning a bit. "I suppose I may just be an old romantic at heart but I for one believe that love has _everything_ to do with marriage."

"Then you are setting yourself up for disappointment," Rose said matter-of-factly. "Of all the reasons people get married, I scarcely hear love listed among them."

"Why are you doing it?" Again, a flash of Rose's eyes let him know he had hit a chord.

"I have my reasons." Rose replied, becoming a bit more brusque. "Sometimes, Thomas, we don't have as much say over our own lives as we would like."

"There's nobody here now," he pointed out. "Nobody who will judge you or make you do something you don't want to do."

"What don't I want to do?"  
"Marry that arrogant bastard."

Rose closed her mouth in surprise again, painted into a corner. Thomas watched as she struggled with a reply before giving up and sighing in exasperation, throwing her hands in the air. "Shall we walk?" he asked, offering his arm. Rose hesitated for only a moment before taking his strong arm.

After twenty minutes or so and a complete lap around the deck, Rose spoke. "My father was a very wealthy man," she started, so quietly that Thomas had to strain to hear her. "Some called him frivolous." She smiled. "He never came home without gifts. Flowers for Mother, dolls for me. Our house was filled with the finest of things. He sent my brother and I to the best of schools. We wanted for nothing. Life was perfect."

She took a deep breath.

"Elias was my brother," she said. "He was just two years older than me. We were each other's worlds. When he was fourteen and I was twelve, he had an accident. It was stupid really. Riding his horse too fast. Not paying attention." She paused to wipe an errant tear away. "After that, he wasn't the same. Couldn't remember how to do the simplest of things. And always quite sick. He required round the clock care. Father simply couldn't handle it. He started drinking more. We wouldn't see him, sometimes for weeks at a time and then only when the local pubs had enough of him. By the time Elias passed nearly three years later, Father had drank and gambled every last bit of money away. Then, he put a gun in his mouth. Mother and I have been on our own ever since."

Thomas listened, his heart breaking for the beautiful woman on his arm.

"Cal's father had been a business associate with my father. They had often joked about their children getting married, but it wasn't until mother heard how much Cal's family was actually worth that the idea became a reality. A union with Cal will ensure my future. Mother's." She stopped walking for a moment and stood to face Thomas. "So you see, Mr. Andrews, my _wanting_ to marry Cal is irrelevant. I _have_ to marry Cal."

They stood together in the near darkness. Somehow both of Rose's hands ended up in Thomas's. Her eyes were shining with unspilled tears. Thomas gently wiped one off as it escaped and trickled down her cheek. "There must be a better way," he said numbly.

Rose scoffed. "I'm a woman. No way is a better way." She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke again. "I should return to my rooms," she said. "It's very late."

Thomas felt his heart ache as she pulled her hands from his. "Yes," he agreed, his voice raspy. "It is."

Rose regarded him for a moment before sadly smiling and then leaning in, kissing his cheek. "Thank you, Thomas," she whispered in his ear just as she pulled away.

And then, in a hurry of silks, she was gone.

* * *

Rose hurried down the stairs. Her heart was pounding. She was feeling the strangest sensations-like tiny hummingbirds were flapping mercilessly to escape her stomach. Her feet moved quickly but silently. She kept her eyes down lest she trip over her skirt.

But she didn't trip.

Instead, she ran directly into none other than Cal, who looked positively enraged.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you for reading! Enjoy!**_

 _ **-Nico**_

* * *

 _"Whore..."_

Cal was drunk. Drunker than Rose had ever seen him. If she hadn't been so terrified, she would have been amazed that such a level of inebriation was possible in what seemed like such a short amount of time.

The slur fell from his lips as his eyes narrowed at the sight of her. "I believe I told you that you will not be alone on this ship." His voice was deceptively calm, tinged with unchecked rage.

Rose bit her lip. Not only had she never seen Cal this drunk, she had never seen him this angry. Thinking quickly, she spoke. "Cal darling!" The edge of nervousness to her voice helped her act. "I was so terribly worried!"

Cal's eyes narrowed even further. A gloss of confusion was evident as his anger seemed to ebb just slightly.

"Whatever are you talking about," he muttered.

"Well…you see…I…" She stammered, her nerves tripping her brain. Suddenly, it came to her. "I came to your room," she said, now pouring herself into her pretense. "And you were not there…and it was so late…" She placed a hand gently on his arm. He looked at it and then up at her.

"You came to my rooms?" The idea seemed to please him. Rose nodded, fighting at the tightness in her throat that prevented her from speaking.

Cal's face softened a bit, but his brow furrowed. "You should not be in the hallways at night, Rose," he said sternly, harkening back to his earlier threats.

"I know, Cal. I'm sorry. My worry got the best of me. It won't happen again."

So drunk was Cal that he didn't notice the distance in her voice, the cool indifference in her promises. He nodded his approval.

Then, a new idea flashed into him. He regarded his fiancé-her ruddy cheeks, her unkempt hair, her full lips-and moved closer. Rose demurred, moving slightly backwards until she was backed up against one of the beautiful mahogany pillars at the bottom of the stairwell. He raised his hand and ran a finger down the side of her face, his lips curled into a cat-like smile.

"It warms my heart, knowing my absence displeased you," he drawled, his mouth impossibly close to her ear. He pulled back, looking down at her face.

Disturbingly, the fear he saw in her eyes made her all the more attractive to him.

"Cal…" She started, her voice quivering.

"Shhh…" Cal replied, his hand coming to rest across her mouth, just hard enough to alarm her.  
"Is this not what you wanted?" He asked. "Is this not why you came to my room?"

Rose moved her head sharply out of his grasp, vaguely aware of just how much he was enjoying this. "Not like this," she said, sidestepping him.

Cal made a noise akin to laughter before grabbing her upper arm as she walked by him, hard enough to cause her to cry out. He wrenched her to him, his mouth finding hers in a lightning-quick assault. Using her free arm, she tried to push him away but only succeeded in bringing herself closer to him. She felt tears prick her eyes as he kissed her-too hard to be born of any affection. She felt his hand creep up her bodice. She squeezed her eyes shut, horrified that this was happening here-now-at all…

It was then that footsteps were heard on the stairs. Cal immediately released her, his strict upbringing of all this proper overriding whatever it was he had been about to do. Rose pulled her disheveled dress sleeve back to its resting place, embarrassedly noticing that Cal had torn the fine lace that it was made of. She lifted her eyes to see who her unintended savior was…

Thomas stood at the top of the stairs, looking down, his face a mixture of surprise and something much, much darker.

Cal was unperturbed.

"Thomas, my good man!" He greeted him merrily, with not a trace of the menace that was just present in his demeanor. "I apologize for the scene." Then, another idea. Cal flashed a knowing smile. "But, one could hardly blame me, could they?" He looked suggestively over at Rose, who looked miserably at the floor, one hand holding up her torn gown.

"Are you alright, Rose?" Thomas asked, ignoring the clearly drunk man standing at her side.

Cal wouldn't be ignored. He scoffed. "Of course she is. Why wouldn't she be?" His stance became incrementally more intimidating.

Rose didn't move.

Thomas's lips pressed into a thin line as he wrestled with his next step. To continue this confrontation might make things worse for Rose. One didn't interfere with another's personal matters. It simply wasn't done. And who was he to intercept on her behalf? She barely knew him. How was he to know that the kiss she was sharing with this contemptible man wasn't consensual? And on what grounds would he have the right to interfere? It wasn't a crime for a man to kiss his fiancé, after all…

Yet as she stood there struggling with all the reasons he shouldn't help her, her entire being screamed out that she needed it. That she was lost. That this man looming in front of her staring daggers at him, was slowly destroying her. Thomas watched as she raised her head just slightly, looking at him from behind Cal's back. His heart broke in two as he watched her mouth the words _"Just go…"_

He nodded fractionally. "My apologies." He muttered, continuing past the couple even though every fiber of his being screamed not to.

"Oh and Andrews," Cal called after him, all warmth now gone from his voice, "Not a word of this."

Thomas didn't turn around.

* * *

The music was light and airy, much like the weather on the morning of April 11th. A chill was still present in the air but the open sea weather was fair and sunny with a pleasing ocean breeze.

Rose sat at a small table on their private balcony, sipping a bit of an Italian coffee she was unfamiliar with. The drink made her head buzz, her mind still racing over the previous evening's events.

She could not get the image of Thomas's shocked face as he hovered at the top of the staircase. Of all the people to witness such a humiliating event, she thought. Her hand went involuntarily to her opposite upper arm, wincing as her fingertips brushed the bruised flesh there. It was the first time Cal had left his mark on her, though she suspected it wouldn't be the last.

She sighed, a heavy weight pressing down upon her chest. She felt the panic that she lived with daily start to swell inside of her. In a desperate attempt to push it down, she thought about Thomas as he had been on the promenade deck. When it had been just the two of them. She filled her mind with thoughts of his happy eyes as they looked into hers. She liked the way he looked. Like he was always pleased, even when he wasn't smiling. She liked the unfashionable tan on his cheek and the slight unruliness of his hair. She even liked the way his tie was slightly askew-as if he couldn't be bothered with the detail.

 _The beauty is in the smallest details._ His words flooded back to her. And then his eyes were there again…two shimmering amber pools…like the sunrise…

"What the devil are you smiling about?" Snapped Cal, who looked perfectly put together as he stepped out onto the balcony, a cup of his favorite tea in his hands.

"Good morning, Cal," Rose replied distantly.

"Good morning indeed," he scoffed. "One would never guess this is the most luxurious ship ever made with that bed. It was like sleeping upon a slab of stone."

Rose quietly suspected that the overindulgence in drink was more to blame than the goose-down filled mattresses in the first class suites, but she said nothing, keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon.

Ruth swept into the room at that moment, her posture painfully rigid. Actually, everything about her was rigid, Rose couldn't help noticing. From the tightness in which her hair was twisted up underneath her elaborate hat to the unforgiving way in which she laced her corset. Her mother was the very picture of discomfort. Even now, her smile seemed tight and painful.

"Are we almost ready for the tour?" She chirped, her voice grating. Rose's stomach flopped. She had forgotten. Her eyes went involuntarily to Cal's. His momentarily darkened. If he had forgotten about the tour as well he didn't let on to it.

"Quite ready," Cal said, his accent clipping the words. "Let us go see this Thomas Andrews' alleged marvel, shall we?" His voice was dripping with contempt, but it had slowly morphed back into the fake politeness with which he spoke to the general public. Ruth giggled a bit, nauseating Rose.

As she rose to join Cal and her mother, she couldn't help the tiny flare of excitement that was blooming within her at the thought of seeing the shipbuilder again.

* * *

Rose was surprised by how enrapt she was as she listened to Thomas explain about various things on the ship. She could sense his passion in everything he mentioned and found the occasional burst of excitement in his narration endearing. She had outright laughed when he had illustrated how to use one of the mechanical rowing machines in the gymnasium, much to the irritation of Cal and her mother.

After an hour or so, it felt as if Thomas was giving the tour to only her. Cal and Ruth nodded along politely as he spoke, feigning interest. Bruce Ismay and a few others had joined, which was actually something of a relief to Rose. And though he held her arm a bit too tightly for her liking, it was like Cal wasn't even there.

Thomas could tell Rose was interested in what he was saying. It encouraged him to continue the tour, even though watching her walk on the arm of Hockley was a form of torture.

As they walked along the Promenade deck, right along the path that she and Thomas had walked alone the night before, Rose struggled to think of something to say to Thomas. Something that wouldn't draw suspicions but would allow her to talk to him. She couldn't explain why, but there was the overwhelming desire to do so.

As they walked past the lifeboats and Cal released his grasp on her to light a cigarette, it came to her. She walked closer to Thomas's side. "Mr. Andrews, forgive me. I've done that calculations in my head and it would seem there aren't enough lifeboats to accommodate all those on board."

Despite the painful reminder of his creation's imperfection, Thomas smiled. She missed nothing.

"You are correct," he replied. "It was thought, by some…" he threw a glance at Bruce, "that they would make the deck appear too cluttered, and block the view."

"Waste of deck space as it is on an unsinkable ship," Cal tapped the side of one of the lifeboats with his walking cane. The sound irritated Thomas.

"Yes, well," he said, turning to catch Rose's eyes. "You needn't worry, Rose," he said, a hint of tenderness in his voice. "I've built you a solid ship. Sure, and true."

She found herself lost in his gaze, in the shining happiness of his eyes.

"Rose," Cal interjected sharply. "Come."

How Thomas hated the man.

* * *

Later, in his personal chambers, Thomas found he could not give his blueprints the attention he usually did. They lay in scattered piles, silently demanding he adjust a design here or a measurement there, yet they went untouched. His head rested on his hands at the mouth, his eyes glazed over in thought.

How could it be possible, he wondered, to feel so strongly about someone he just met. Yet here he was, dancing with the images of Rose in his mind. Rose's hair in the sunlight. Her laughter in his ears. Her soft hand over his.

So incredible was she as a distraction that Thomas scarcely noticed the light rapping at his door. As he emerged from hi s daydream, he ran his large hands over his face and through his hair in an attempt to reconnect with reality.

He went to the door, looking out of the small peephole and into the hallway.

Ismay.

Thomas rolled his eyes before opening the door on the slender man, his mustache twitching in the disturbing way it always did.

"What say you, Bruce," he asked, allowing his large frame to take up the entirety of the doorframe, a silent denial of entrance.

"Andrews," Ismay greeted him, his words always coming out in a blithering rush. "You simply must say something to Smith. He is hesitating to light the last two boilers, despite the fact that we have ascertained that we have more than enough coal on board. Officer Murdoch informed me that with the last of the boilers lit, we could arrive in New York a day ahead of schedule. Imagine that, old boy! Size _and_ speed! Just think of the headlines!"

His excitement made him sound like a petulant child trying to sway a parent's decision making process.

"I'm sure E.J. has his reasons, Bruce," Andrews said wearily. Headlines were of little importance to him. "Have you not heard of the numerous ice warnings we have already received?"

Bruce chortled. "Titanic is bigger than any iceberg out there," he gestured dismissively. Then, dropping is voice into a whisper he added, "An early arrival would mean a boon in publicity, which in turn would mean a boon for White Star Line, which in turn could make you a very famous man indeed!"

"What need have I of fame?" Andrews laughed, his deep voice reverberating in the hallway, making Bruce look vaguely uncomfortable.

"Very well, perhaps you could find your need in the money that will flood your pockets," he said haughtily, as if it were any motivation to Thomas whatsoever.

"Bruce, you will have to fight your battles alone," Thomas folded his arms across his chest, a smile still on his lips. "I've known Captain Smith for quite some time. I trust his decisions implicitly.

Ismay frown. "Fine," he snapped. "I'm sure that once certain influential passengers hear of the publicity _they_ would receive, it will get back to the _Captain._ "

Thomas nodded. "Oh, I've no doubt it would," he agreed. "And I'm sure you'll have no qualms about being the messenger. See you at dinner, _old boy_?"

Bruce's mouth screwed up in annoyance before he nodded and bid a curt 'good afternoon' to Thomas and huffed down the hallway. Thomas stepped out of his room, amusedly watching the little man walk away, forcing himself to be awkwardly chummy with every first class passenger he passed along the way.

* * *

The ornately designed clock located on the landing of the Grand Staircase was designed to thrill its viewers-and it did not disappoint. It was lit up in brilliance, the intricacies of its patterns and materials stunning even an artistic novice with its beauty. Thomas lingered here, appreciating the work of the craftsmen who were the artists.

All around him, the first class twittered and bustled with the approaching dinnertime meal. Heavy perfumes and colognes littered the air. Swishes of expensive skirts dusted the marble floors. Laugher echoed over the dome shaped space as the mingling continued.

"Thomas?" A feminine voice descending the stairs caused him to turn.

"Elizabeth?" Thomas replied in surprise as he recognized the sister of one of his close childhood friends- the master at arms of the ship. "What a surprise! Are you traveling with Nicholas?"

She smiled as he placed a proper kiss on the back of her silk-covered hand. "And our father," she replied. "She has turned out to be a wonder, Thomas! You should be proud."

Elizabeth had always been a presence in Thomas's life. He had attended grade school with Nicholas and his younger sister had always tagged along after them. The tomboyish young girl had grown into a lovely woman with intelligence to match. She was well on her way to becoming one of the most well known artists in Ireland with accumulating wealth to match.

"What made you decide to take the trip?" Thomas wondered, offering his arm as they walked down the stairs together.

Elizabeth shrugged. "The museums, of course," she smiled. "I hear they rival _Le Louvre._ "

Thomas chuckled. "Somehow I doubt that those bawdy Americans could pull that off."

Elizabeth laughed as well. "You may be right," she agreed.

Across the room, just about to enter the dining area, Thomas caught sight of a familiar blur of red.

Rose.

She stood beside Cal, her eyes downcast as he chatted with J.J. Astor. She was stunning in a dark reddish dress with an intricate black beaded overlay. She looked daring, seductive…

And absolutely miserable.

Thomas watched as Cal suddenly looked away from Astor, as if he had sensed Thomas's gaze. He scowled slightly and drew Rose closer to him-almost inappropriately so. Rose looked up at him in confusion briefly before lowering her eyes once more.

Suddenly the thought of dining alone seemed entirely unappealing, especially given the likelihood that Cal would secure a seat with Ismay and Captain Smith-precisely where Thomas himself would be expected to sit.

"Elizabeth," Thomas said as they walked towards the dining room themselves, "how would you and your family like to join me for dinner?"

* * *

Save for Cal, the table erupted in laughter as Thomas finished his story of how he miraculously survived a fall from the scaffolding of another ship during the building process back when he was an apprentice. Nicholas Westward, a hearty man with rosy cheeks that grew redder with his animated way of speaking provided additional details along the plotline, such as how Thomas looked coming out of the sea, dripping went and sputtering.

Across the table, he caught Rose's glance and lifted his glass ever so slightly in her direction. Her eyes flitted to the beautiful woman sitting next to him and then away completely, uncomfortable with the gnawing sensation in her stomach that erupted as Rose watched her casually lay a hand over Thomas, her mouth wide with laughter.

"Between you and my brother, it's a miracle you both have survived as long as you have!" She commented, laughing still. Then, to the table she added, "you would not believe how much trouble they used to get into!"

"Not our straight-laced Andrews!" Ismay said in mock surprise. Despite how irritating Thomas found the man, he smiled.

"Aye, Bruce. I am afraid that, and I know this may be difficult for you to believe, you would have detested my younger self."

The corner of Bruce's mouth twitched up in what would be the closest he would ever come to a genuine smile. "You, Thomas?" He drawled, his voice heavy with sarcasm, "never."

Thomas tipped his drink to Bruce now.

"Thomas," Elizabeth began again. Rose was beginning to find her irritating. "Confirm a rumor I heard." Elizabeth leaned in. Rose could see that she was naturally enigmatic and charming, what with her full bosom and pretty blond hair. She found herself irrationally jealous of the woman. How close she was to Thomas.

Metaphorically and physically.

Honestly if she were any closer she would be sitting upon his lap.

"I heard that the third class had a fantastic party last night," she said, her voice low as if talking about something scandalous. "With dancing and music…and beer!"

The table twittered in condescending laughter.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Thomas said. "There's ample room in third class for a party." He winked at her, the table laughing again.

"Can you imagine," Elizabeth said, smiling too much. "What fun!"

"Beer and dancing?" Cal said dryly. "Fun?"

Ismay mumbled allegiance to Cal, with Ruth on his heels. "Sounds positively dreadful," she added her two cents.

"Oh, I disagree," Elizabeth continued, giggling with effortless joy. "I think that sounds like a marvelous time!" She suddenly caught Rose's unintentional glare. Not a mean bone in her body, Elizabeth smiled at her. "What do you think, Rose?"

Rose was caught off guard by the girl's genuine friendliness. She blushed under the sudden attention of the table. Out of the corner of her field of vision, she saw Cal roll his eyes and turn his attention to his lamb.

It bothered her how little he thought of her.

"Actually," she said, surprised by how strong her voice sounded. "I quite like dancing."

Cal looked over at her in surprise as he delicately placed another bit of lamb on his tongue. Elizabeth lifted her drink. "I knew I liked you," she said, laughing prettily again.

Thomas was smiling too.

And Rose tipped her glass to _him._

"Yes well, there won't be much time for dancing when the children start coming, now will there," Cal said in such an offhanded manner that at first it didn't register as the crude comment it was. As the table settled into uncomfortable silence, Rose seethed inwardly, especially as she watched both Elizabeth and Thomas look away from her and towards each other, engaging in a private conversation too low for anyone else to hear. She watched as Thomas handed something to the woman and she smiled, nodding her head vigorously.

Rose bit her lip, absolutely hating Cal and wishing she could disappear.

* * *

The meal ended a short while later without much fanfare. Captain Smith bid everyone good night and returned to his post, but not before escorting a gushing Ruth back to her rooms. Elizabeth and Nicholas's father retired as well.

"Gentlemen, would you care to join me for a brandy?" Ismay asked the remaining men with gentile predictability as they rose from the table.

"With pleasure," Cal said a bit too eager for the drink. Then, as an afterthought, looked at Rose and frowned. Elizabeth stepped over to her.

"My rooms are just down the hall from yours," she said warmly. "Perhaps we could take a short walk before retiring?"

The seemed to satisfy Cal, who leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on the back of Rose's hands. "I shall see you later," he said a bit too loudly. The implication was caught by all.

Rose blushed miserably.

"Andrews, will you join us?" Ismay called to him.

"I'm afraid not tonight, gentlemen. There is a small matter of a broken lift I must see to." Thomas came over to Elizabeth and kissed her hand. "It was wonderful seeing you tonight," he said earnestly. She nodded and smiled. He looked at Rose. "Goodnight, Miss," he said politely.

"Goodnight, Mr. Andrews," she replied.

As the men walked away, Elizabeth surprised Rose by linking her arm with hers, as if they were sisters or very close friends.

"Your fiancé is very handsome," she whispered, smiling and giggling. Despite herself, Rose found it near impossible not to like the bubbly, fresh faced blonde.

"Thank you?" Rose said sardonically. Elizabeth laughed as she half tugged Rose into a walk.

"What, you don't think so?"

"I suppose I've never given it much thought," Rose said, uncomfortable but inescapably refreshed by this woman's unique demeanor.

"Never given it much thought!" Elizabeth repeated a bit loudly. Rose shushed her. "You're going to marry him and you've never given it much thought?" She said in a slightly quieter tone, aghast.

"It's not like that," Rose said, wishing the topic would change.

"What is it like?"

"It's…it's just not…" Rose stammered, halting in their procession. "I don't want to talk about this with you!" She exclaimed, facing her. Elizabeth looked confused.

"Why not?"

Rose laughed at the girl's obliviousness. "I don't even know you!"

"Oh, pfft," Elizabeth replied, linking arms again. "Details."

Rose walked with the woman, astonished by her impropriety. Even now, as they stood in the elevator that would take them back to b-deck, she was humming loudly, seemingly unaware of the disapproving glares of other people.

They walked the rest of the way to Rose's rooms in silence, save the humming. "Well," Rose said to the unique, smiling woman, "this is me."

Elizabeth remained silent until a passerby turned the corner and they were alone in the hall. She held out a small, folded piece of paper. "This is for you."

Rose eyed the paper warily. "What is it?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "It's a horse."

Rose raised an eyebrow in annoyance and took the paper from her. She held it in her hand, unsure of whether or not to read it.

"I'll bid you good night then, Rose." She said, smiling knowingly and walking away.

"Good…good night…" Rose called after her awkwardly.

What a strange woman, she thought as she quickly unfolded the message, curious to see what she could have possibly written her.

But it wasn't from Elizabeth.

She saw Thomas's signature before she read the message, her heart in her throat.

 _Meet me at the Clock. –Thomas_

She gasped involuntarily, looking around.

It took only seconds for her to head back to the clock.

* * *

She arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Thomas was standing alone, his back to her as he seemingly studied the clock. Then, he turned to her, smiling.

"So," he said casually. "I heard you like dancing."


	4. Chapter 4

**_Thanks for giving this a read! -Nico_**

* * *

Before they even entered the dining area, the music highlighted the difference between third and first class. The music in first class was an underscore; something to be ignored-something that went unappreciated.

The music here sounded like a carnival ride, moving quickly and in unexpected directions-all at once too loud and too wonderful.

Rose had never heard anything like it before.

All her life, the soundtrack had been that non-descript, non-invasive music of first class. The constant, lovely drone of all the instruments involved doing exactly what was expected of them at a volume that neither distracted nor attracted.

This new soundtrack was rather extraordinary.

Just before his hand touched the door that led to the third class dining area, Rose's nerves bubbled in her chest. "Thomas!" She said a bit urgently. "Is it…is it safe?" She despised herself for being nervous. But the sounds of inebriated laughter and the steady stomp of dancing feet intimidated her.

Thomas turned to her, suddenly aware that he was leading her very far away from her element. He smiled and took one of her hands into both of his. "I personally guarantee it," he said, his voice dancing over his words as it always did.

Rose felt her heart soften, rather unexpectedly. She smiled and nodded, feeling assuredly safe. Thomas smiled back, his amber eyes twinkling as he pushed open the doors.

The music was the first assault on the senses, followed by the sound of raucous laughter. Then came the sticky sweet smell of beer and the remnants of the evening meal. As they walked in, she was aware of eyes on them yet they were all smiling. An inebriated older man half danced, half walked across their path, handing Thomas a large pint of dark ale, which he accepted and took a gulp of, laughing as he did so.

"On every ship I have had the pleasure of designing, I have placed a modest platform for dancing in third class," Thomas said, his mouth very near her ear in order to be heard over the din of the dining room. "I've known for some time of the parties that go on below deck." He winked and straightened, jutting a strong chin in the direction of said platform.

"Are you a dancer, Mr. Andrews?" Rose asked, her voice slightly teasing.

"Not professionally," he replied, laughing. "Though every good Irish lad ought to know a few steps." He extended his hand to her.

"You don't mea n to suggest…" Rose laughed, feeling all at one thrilled and nervous.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one I haven't danced in ages," she replied, still smiling. "And…well…" She struggled for a moment before giving up and shrugging. "You know, I cannot think of a single other reason."

Thomas smiled as she placed her soft hand into his own, calloused by years of hard work. They approached the platform and Rose gasped as Thomas suddenly lifted her upon it without warning. Her eyes went wide as he hopped up in a fluid motion, his thick, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He straightened out to his full, impressive height in front of her. He was close enough that she could hear his heart beating over the steady rhythm of feet dancing around them.

Her breath involuntarily caught in her throat as he took a step impossibly closer, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist as he bent his mouth to her ear once more. "We're going to have to get a little closer," he said.

He pulled her to him, one arm wrapped around her, the other holding her hand. She looked up at him with uncertainty and he smiled, wordlessly pulling her into a frenzied dance around the generous dance floor. Rose followed his movements in a hurried yet graceful pattern that left her all at once laughing and breathless. The room was a swirl of colorful fabric and laughing faces. Thomas was laughing just as hard above her, doing his best to keep up with the modern movement, his feet faltering only once or twice in the process. As the song came to a close, he dipped her slightly, his head inches above hers as they both laughed breathlessly.

"Rose," he said, his voice clear and strong and suddenly serious. "You are absolutely beautiful."

Rose stopped laughing, the sincerity in his voice catching her off guard.

"Thomas," she said, all other words failing her. He straightened her up and gently moved a strand of crimson hair from her eyes and suddenly looking quite sad.

"May I show you my favorite part of the ship?" He asked. Rose nodded.

"I would like that," she replied, still buzzing with the tension between them.

They walked quietly through the narrow passageways and hidden corridors of Titanic. Thomas, of course, knew these narrow hallways like the back of his hand-winding and looping easily through the labyrinth.

Their hands were clasped, though neither could remember who reached for the other first. Twice, Rose felt Thomas's thumb brush across the backs of her knuckles just slightly before remembering himself and then going still. Both times had sent a shiver up her arm.

Finally, they reached the top deck, the cool sea air momentarily taking both of their breaths away. He brought her to the front of the ship and stood before a small ladder that led to a higher platform Rose couldn't quite see.

Thomas looked from the ladder back to Rose. "'Tis slightly more of an adventure than I remembered it to be," he said. "Are you up to it?"

Rose eyed the ladder and thought briefly of her delicate heels and silk stockings. Then, defiantly, her chin jutting out just a bit she decided she was. "I think I can manage," she said, grasping a hold of the ladder and beginning to climb.

Using her muscles in such a way felt strangely freeing. She was surprised at how easy it was-and how exhilarating the slightly dizzying height was.

She reached the landing with Thomas following moments later. A small sort of booth was on the far side of the platform-a tiny room with bench and a large window. "This is an observation shelter," Thomas explained. In inclement weather, we can still have someone here with their eyes to the sea." Rose nodded, opening the door to the room. The deafening noise of the ocean and wind immediately halted as Thomas followed her, closing the door behind him.

There was room enough for two-presumably designed so the watchmen could work in pairs. They were both, however, keenly aware of the other's presence.

Rose lifted her eyes in the darkness to look at his dimly lit face. "It's quiet," she remarked. Thomas nodded.

"A design flaw," he admitted. "It is helpful to be able to hear one's surrounding when on the lookout for danger. I mean to adjust that when we dock."

"Along with several hundred other perceived imperfections, no doubt," Rose teased. "I've seen how you are buried in that notebook of yours."

Thomas's hand instinctively went to his coat pocket, feeling the familiar weight of the battered notebook. He smiled. "A mere hundred at the most," he teased back. Rose laughed.

"It really is an incredible accomplishment, Thomas," she said. "You should be proud."

"Aye," he agreed. "I suppose so. Yet the builder in me always sees room for improvement."

"Room for improvement," Rose repeated, turning her eyes to the horizon and suddenly looking thoughtful. "I feel as though that phrase is the perfect description of my life."

Thomas felt the mood turn decidedly somber. For several moments the two stood in silence, both gazing out at the inky black ocean.

Thomas took a thin breath. "Nothing is written in stone," he said quietly.

"Thomas…" Rose said, her voice a bit of a warning.

"You can alter the course. There's still time," he continued, his voice a bit faster-a touch louder.

"I've already told you my reasoning…"

He grasped her arm gently, turning her to face him. She gasped at the sudden intensity in his eyes.

"You should marry for love," he interrupted, his voice a bit harsh. "You deserve that much."

"Deserve?" Rose scoffed. "What does it matter what I deserve! That's not how the world works and you _know-"_

" _I don't know anything!"_

His voice reverberated off the metal walls around them, causing Rose's mouth to snap closed.

"A few days ago I would never have imagined myself here-like this," he continued, his voice steady. "My course is irrevocably altered. Why can't yours be?"

Rose blinked.

"Am I a fool, Rose? A fool who thinks that you might feel just a fraction of the way I feel for you?"

Rose felt her mouth go dry. "And what way is that, Thomas?" She asked softly.

Thomas felt his jaw clench. The skin of her arm burned his hand where he still held her. The small booth was filled with her light, summertime scent. Her chest heaved slightly out of her corset, her breath coming quickly with the anticipation of the moment. Thomas ashamedly found his eyes lingering briefly there and then up the pale column of her neck to her full lips, which trembled just slightly.

Before he could think of an answer-of words that could possibly explain the complete change in his world now that she was a part of it, his body answered for him, his full lips claiming hers in one fluid motion.

Other than a brief, stolen kiss or two from Cal, Rose was inexperienced. She felt the breath leave her lungs as he pulled her impossibly close to him. One strong arm held her across her back, his large fingers grasping just slightly at the silks of her dress. His other hand had languidly cupped the back of her head, coming to lock in the thick curls, holding her face to his tenderly.

Rose froze as Thomas's lips gently molded to hers, a mixture of shock and excitement rendering her incapable of movement for a few moments. Then, as if moving of their own accord, she felt her arms rise up against his chest and timidly come to rest around his neck. She allowed her hands to form to the back of his neck as he deepened the kiss in response.

He took advantage of her dropped guard and allowed his tongue to explore the velvet of her mouth. Involuntarily, a small moan escaped from the back of her throat as he pulled her closer, his hand moving just slightly lower so that his fingertips rested just at the swell of her backside.

Encouraged, she rounded on him, momentarily taking control of the kiss, emboldened to use her tongue in a similar fashion. So overcome with the overwhelming sensations of being so physically close to him, Rose pushed him backwards just slightly so that his back rested against one of the walls. He made a noise of surprise as she pulled herself even closer to his chest, her soft lips devouring his own.

The primal response in him drew his hand to her breast, his thumb forming a cup around the outline of her corseted form. She gasped and he silently cursed the complicated, stiff style of women's underwear. She pulled at his shirt, needing him to be closer. She breathed deeply, inhaling him, wanting him all around her…

She pulled back, her hand instinctively going to her lips. They stared at each other, both panting.

"Rose," he breathed darkly. "I want you."

Rose gasped again, surprised and surging at his honest and raw declaration. "We…we can't…" she said, her voice void of conviction.

"I don't want to pretend that this isn't something," he said, his voice husky but joyful. He grasped her hands again and pressed his forehead down to hers. "This _is_ something, Rose."

Rose closed her eyes. "Oh, Thomas," she said, feeling tears stinging her eyes. "He won't let me go," she whispered.

She collapsed into him in an embrace and he kissed the top of her head. His arms stole around her and he held her tightly. "He doesn't have a choice," he said with quiet menace.

Rose looked up at him. "Thomas," she said, her voice a bit stronger. "You don't know Cal. He will stop at nothing to get his way."

"Then perhaps the impudent child needs a lesson," Thomas smiled. He ran his thumb down the side of her face. She turned slightly and kissed his palm.

"He would not rest until you were ruined," she whispered. Her large eyes flashed to him. "He's done it before."

"Cal Hockley does not frighten me," Thomas said, crooking a finger under her chin. "And he should not frighten you either."

Rose shook her head. She felt the tears brimming in her eyes. She buried her face in his firm chest. "I would take care of you, Rose," he said softly. He pushed her back a bit so he could look her in the eyes. "I know we just met," he began, his voice earnest, "but I feel an indescribable pull towards you. Do you feel it too?"

Rose let her eyelids slide closed, the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally flowing down her cheeks. She nodded. "I do," she whispered.

"Then when the ship docks, come with me. I have a project waiting down in the islands off the coast of Florida. We can live on the beach. The sand under our feet and the sun on our backs each day." His voice became more enthused as they spoke. "Life is simpler there; I visited once. We could both break free of the confines of class. We would have a good life, Rose."

She looked at him. The picture he painted was perfect. She could envision it. She sniffled. "Could it really be?" She asked, allowing herself to hope just a bit.

Thomas nodded. "Yes, Rose," he said enthusiastically. "It could be all that and more."

Rose bit her lip. Her heart lurched. Every fiber of her being yearned to scream yes, that she would follow him anywhere. Yet she hesitated. It was so fast. It meant a completely different and exciting life.

But Cal-vindictive, vile Cal-Rose knew him better than anyone did. She knew that the wedding invitations had already been sent to hundreds of members of high society. She knew that to walk away from him would mean his disgrace.

And Cal was not one to be disgraced.

Thomas watched her internal struggle for a moment before becoming suddenly resigned. He nodded and brought her hand to his lips. "I suppose I am a fool," he said, smiling sadly.

Rose shook her head, new tears spilling. "No, Thomas…"

"They've got you trapped, Rose," he said quietly, sounding defeated. "And sooner or later that fire that I love about you is going to go out."

She felt a sob hitch in her chest as he opened the door to the observation booth for her.

* * *

They walked in utter silence for some time. After what seemed an eternity, Thomas stopped in front of a non-descript looking door. "This leads to your hallway," he said quietly. "T'would probably be best for you to continue alone."

Rose looked at him, her heart wrenching. He met her eyes and smiled warmly, but with a look of loss about him. "Thomas…I…" She searched for the words. "I would have been so grateful for the life you described."

Thomas's lips pursed. "You still can be."

The yearning swelled in her chest but she fled anyway, too disappointed in herself to stay a moment longer.

* * *

Later, Thomas found himself smoking a cigarette on his private balcony. He had quit the habit a year or so ago, yet here he was breathing plumes of white fluff into the sky.

He had taken off his dinner jacket and was now slightly chilled by the night air. He focused on the frigid sensation rather than the ache in his chest.

He should sleep-the sky was already beginning to lighten with the first hints of morning. Yet he knew it would be futile.

Extinguishing his cigarette, he walked back into his main parlor in search of work to occupy his mind when he heard a faint sound.

He stilled.

It sounded like knocking.

He glanced at the large clock on the mantle. It was nearly three in the morning.

He crossed over to his door and looked out the peephole-

And immediately flung the door open. Rose slipped inside, her cheeks flushed and her breath coming fast. Her long hair was down and she was wearing only the silks of her nightgown and robes.

Her feet were bare.

Thomas looked at her in shock. "Did you walk all the way here in _that?_ " He laughed a bit.

Rose laughed nervously too. "Yes," she breathed, shrugging helplessly. "I did!"

"Why?" He asked, already pulling her to him.

"I...I had to come…I wanted to be with you…" She stammered, looking up at him. "I _had_ to be with you..."

It was all she could get out before his lips came crashing down upon hers, effectively silencing her.


End file.
